Not So Different
by Robert Cora Fan
Summary: When the problems and tensions seem insurmountable, two people draw strength and comfort from each other. Or Robert/Cora/Carlise.
1. Preparations

A/N: First, an apology. I have drafted an ending to _Bad Beginning_ but I'm not entirely happy with it, and...this idea came to me and I had to get it out of my system.

Cora and Carlisle...! I think this pairing is interesting...and credible. Most of the fic is already written in draft form, so I should be able to update it fairly regularly!

* * *

><p><em>"Sir Richard?"<em>

_He hears the same questioning tone at every ball and dinner - the tone which makes it clear that he doesn't quite belong. No, __he__ wasn't born to inherited wealth, a stately home, an aristocratic title or any of the other myriad advantages bestowed on the upper tiers of society. He takes considerable pride that his powerful position is entirely a product of his own abilities and hard work._

_And yet... still he yearns for acceptance. The title and stately home can easily be acquired through the right patronage and financial inducements. He is sure that he can eventually adopt the customs of the aristocracy. But to be truly accepted in this society, he needs something else - a family connection._

_Lady Mary Crawley may just be the solution to this problem. He is attracted by the dark good looks and fierce intelligence, and intrigued by her cold reserve and her shrewd judgements. He sees a potential partner, maybe even a soul mate._

_So he approaches her invitation to Downton Abbey with the same care and attention to detail he would any other important campaign._

_First, the family. He scans through his secretary's report. Nothing of note - run-of-the-mill aristocrat, married to an American heiress (no surprise these days), the heir...__third__ cousin! It must have taken quite a trawl through the family tree to pluck a middle-class solicitor from obscurity._

_He closes the report in satisfaction. Nothing too alarming - or indeed interesting. Perfect._

* * *

><p>"It's easy for your mother to invite Rosamund and Richard Carlisle for dinner, when <em>she <em>doesn't have to make the arrangements."

Cora joins her husband in bed, still fuming at her mother-in-law's latest interference.

"I'm sure you'll work it out," he murmurs, draping an arm across her and kissing her softly.

"I don't see how with no footmen and Mrs Patmore fretting about making wartime supplies stretch to a dinner party-"

He exhales loudly and closes his eyes. He knows these problems can be resolved easily and the dinner will go smoothly - it always does. Yet still he makes the effort to placate her:

"I'll talk to Carson. I'm afraid he will just need to accept maids in the dining room." He knows without looking that she's smiling at him. He feels her breathing slow down as his fingers trail lightly down her arm. "It will be nice to see Rosamund," he whispers. "And you're surely pleased Mary is inviting a suitor."

"Mmm." She finally settles against his chest. "I'd be more pleased if it was someone we knew."

"I don't think anyone's failed to hear of Richard Carlisle, my dear," he sighs wearily. As he drifts to sleep, he worries about the newspaper magnate. This dinner guest could prove a much bigger problem that a lack of footmen.


	2. Introductions

_A/N: Of course, _Downton Abbey_ doesn't belong to me - and most of the dialogue in this scene comes straight from Season 2..._

* * *

><p>Cora stands outside her home, awaiting the arrival of Richard Carlisle. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees her daughter glance uncomfortably from her to the approaching car. It's unlike Mary to be this nervous. Cora knows her response to Sir Richard staying has been a little too muted and unenthusiastic. She should be delighted that Mary has invited someone to Downton, yet why choose the director of a notorious newspaper empire?<p>

The car stops and the man himself steps out; she notes the dark _business_ suit and the papers under his arm.

"We're so pleased to have you here, Sir Richard. I do hope the train journey wasn't too tiring."

_What does Mary see in this man? _She feels oddly threatened by his too-confident smile and those piercing blue eyes which, she imagines, miss nothing.

"Not at all. I got a lot done."

Cora decides to ignore the man's not-so-subtle reminder that he _works_ for his living:

"Do come in and have some tea." As she ushers them inside she catches Mary's eye and smiles encouragingly. While she is resolved to welcome Sir Richard, she fervently hopes nothing will come of this particular match.

* * *

><p><em>The weekend at Downton proves highly satisfactory, enjoyable even. There are few surprises. The Earl undoubtedly disapproves of him, yet just about manages to hide it behind good manners and aristocratic breeding; his mother doesn't bother to hide <em>_her_ _disapproval. And the heir - ha! those middle-class roots have been long forgotten and discarded, considering the way he has ingratiated himself into the family._

_The American Countess is the only one to show him anything resembling warmth. He is sure every guest has been treated to the same effusive greeting, yet still he responds to her polished smile and charming words. When she seats him beside her at dinner, they talk with effortless ease, the conversation deftly steered away from her daughter and his profession to the safer topics of Downton and the London season. He wonders how many guests she has she has entertained in his place - and how many of those guests were potential suitors?_

_At least she has the grace not to correct his every faux pas; he is even granted a sympathetic smile when he apologies for getting those blasted titles wrong - again. "Don't worry. Sometimes we only learn through making mistakes."_

_Yes, he concedes as the car drives him to the station - certainly an interesting visit._

* * *

><p>They watch in relief as the car holding their daughter and Sir Richard leaves Downton. Robert turns to her:<p>

"Do you think anything will come of it?"

"Oh I don't know...this is _Mary_ we're talking about."

"I must say I can't see the attraction."

Cora briefly considers the question. She _can_ see the attraction for Mary. Beneath those Nordic good looks, Richard Carlisle possesses an unusual blend of cunning, intelligence and self-assurance. He would offer her daughter a new life and a powerful position in society. But apart from all of that, he is substantially different from Matthew Crawley...and substantially different from _her_ idea of a son-in-law...

"What are your plans for the day, darling?" She sees the expression on her husband's face and quickly wishes she hadn't changed the subject.

"Presenting medals to the local regiment back from the Front." He raises his voice in exasperation. "How can I even look them in the eye? These men have served their country and I haven't."

"It's not as if you've haven't seen active service, darling... and you _are_ doing an important job..." she trails off, unable to muster much sincerity or enthusiasm. She knows her husband too well - there is nothing she can say to convince him he is not shirking his duty. Instead she gives him a small smile and kisses his cheek affectionately. His despair is a small price to pay for him being here with her rather than risking his life in France.

* * *

><p><em>"You see, I want you to marry me." <em>

_"I can't help thinking tradition demands a little mention of love."_

_But Lady Mary Crawley doesn't love him - he can see that from the awkwardness between them and the way she looks beyond him as if willing the train to come. So he takes a different approach - he treats the marriage proposal the same way he would a business proposition - he tells her what he can offer her:_

_"We could be a good team." She is watching him now - he finally has her full attention. "We're strong and sharp and we can build something worth having, you and I...if you'll let us."_

_He sees the astonishment in her face - clearly she was not expecting a proposal quite like this. The talk of strength and partners and teams suggests a wholly different world from what she is used to._

_Naturally she promises to think about it._

_As he sits on the train, watching her recede into the distance, he wonders...does __he__ love Lady Mary Crawley? The very idea fills him with horror. Richard Carlisle is not a man to let raw emotion get in the way of a good deal._


	3. The Advantage

_Sir Richard Carlisle's Fleet Street office leaves no visitor in any doubt that he is a man of power and influence. Every detail - from the over-sized lamps to the solid oak desk - has been carefully chosen to intimidate and impress._

_The man himself stands grandly in front of the window, framed by the great London landmarks, looking every inch the powerful titan he is. Seated uncomfortably behind the desk, in a chair which is slightly too small for its occupant, is Lady Mary Crawley._

_The tale she is telling him is one he has heard before - he could not have failed to hear the rumours swirling round London and a little investigation revealed the truth to him. It was a good story, full of those dramatic details that his readers love - the aristocratic hunting party, the foreign ambassador, illicit sex, the carrying of a corpse._ His disgust and disappointment were soon replaced by the _realisation that he had an advantage - the ability to humiliate Lady Mary and her family._

_So when his fiancee comes to him in desperation, he listens afresh to her story. He admires the way she coolly keeps her composure while telling him every sordid detail. But he cannot make this easy for her - he needs her to be suitably humbled and humiliated:  
><em>

_"Who'd have thought it? The cold and careful Lady Mary Crawley. Well, we know better now. I'm surprised you haven't given me some extenuating circumstances." _

_He waits. He has seen it in his office many times before - people in desperate circumstances always blame someone or something else for their wretched situation. By contrast, Lady Mary is refreshingly, brutally honest:_

_"_ _I have none. I was foolish and I was paid out for my folly."_

_He is impressed, yet he is still driven to bring this proud, aristocratic woman down to his level and spell out the position she is in; s_he may not love him, but she will need him:__

_"And when I've saved you, if I can, do you still expect me to marry you? Knowing this...? Of course, we both know that if we marry, people - your people...will think you've conferred a great blessing on me. My house will welcome the finest in the land, my children will carry noble blood in their veins. But that won't be the whole story, will it? Not anymore."_

_She stands up to face him:  
><em>

_"Sir Richard...if you think it pains me to ask this favour, you'd be right. But I have no choice if I am not to be an object of ridicule and pity."_

_There. He has succeeded. Suitably humiliated, practically begging him to save her. Yet with her next words, she regains the upper hand:_

_"If you wish to break off our understanding, I'll accept your decision. After all, it's never been announced. We may dissolve it with the minimum of discomfort."_

Understanding? Minimum of discomfort? _The words pain him; he regrets turning his marriage proposal into a cold business proposition. He swiftly drops the facade of anger and tries to be honest with her, even taking her hand. Even through the thick leather gloves, he can feel the tension._

_When she has left, he sits at his desk awaiting his next visitor. He is not as pleased as he should be. Yes, Mary will marry him, and she be indebted to him. But there is something missing - he wants her love.  
><em>

_He starts to plan._

* * *

><p>AN: I hesitated to include this chapter because it's a scene straight from the series and Richard is so horrid. I don't want to give too much away for the next chapters - let's just say that Sir Richard is in need of redemption!

And back to Downton for next chapter (**The Pact**)!


	4. The Pact

_Sir Richard Carlisle looks round the Great Hall, feeling increasingly ill-at-ease among the sea of military and nursing uniforms. He will never belong at Downton. Everyone - from the Earl to the butler to the lowliest housemaid - seem to be engaged in a conspiracy to make him feel unwelcome and different. He sees their strained expressions every time he forgets to serve himself at breakfast, wears the wrong clothes, uses the wrong forms of address or expresses views which are simply too direct and modern._

_He is used to being courted and feted in the City; at Downton he is simply ignored and abandoned. But why has his fiancée abandoned him? Why did she show him only the most cursory attention at breakfast? Why would she prefer to spend time with her heroic, yet crippled cousin, the man who will inherit her house and her mother's fortune? Why does the Earl so clearly prefer Matthew Crawley as a son-in-law, despite his disability?_

_He closes his eyes, trying to quell his anger, wondering if he could simply drive back to London...He hears a familiar Scottish voice and a less familiar American one. He opens his eyes to see the doctor and the Countess coming in from the drawing room, deep in a discussion about beds and nurses. For the first time that day, he allows himself a small smile. Now there's a woman at home in her environment. She is clearly relishing the new-found responsibility of running the convalescent home._

_She has noticed him. He sees the puzzled frown, the hurried way she excuses herself from the doctor and makes her way over...He unconsciously straightens up and pulls his shoulders back. He is surprised by his own eagerness to talk to her; maybe he is just glad someone is paying attention to him._

_"Sir Richard-"_

_"Richard - please." He smiles pleasantly. "I see the house is very different from my first visit."_

_She nods politely, looking round in concern._

_"Mary is with Matthew Crawley." He answers her unspoken question, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice._

_He sees the smallest of sighs before her social smile returns. He listens to her 'suggested activities' in growing frustration - the Library, a walk in Downton's grounds, riding...is she aware exactly what he is doing for her daughter?_

_"Do you know about Haxby Park? I intend to buy it, and of course add the necessary renovations and modernisations."_

_She nods approvingly. "It certainly needs a lot of work - I'll look forward to seeing the results." Her smile now is genuine and he returns it with some relief - finally, someone who understands what he is trying to do for Mary. "Perhaps you could arrange to show Mary around Haxby tomorrow, Richard? "_

_He readily agrees. It is a good plan and her enthusiasm is infectious._

* * *

><p>Cora sits at her dressing table the next day, sharing her list of daily tasks and complaints with her long-suffering maid: "I'll need to redo the roster again. I don't know how Major Clarkson expects us to manage if he keeps recalling the nurses..."<p>

"I'm sure you'll work something out, milady." O'Brien fastens the last pins into her mistress' hair, tidying up the few loose strands.

"...and I only hope he discharges some of the men today, before transferring any more from the hospital."

Both women look up when the door opens, although there was only one person that would walk in without knocking. Cora quickly dismisses her maid and graces her husband with an small smile which he quickly reciprocates.

"You're up early." He bends down to kiss her cheek softly. "I barely see you these days."

"I've got so much to do, darling." She stands up, seeing her husband trail after her as she leaves the room. "I want to talk to Thomas before Clarkson gets here for his morning rounds."

"Did you know Mary's going to Haxby today?"

She nods. Yes, she certainly remembers _that_ conversation with Mary last night. She never expected to have to remind Mary of her responsibilities and obligations to her fiancée.

"I mean," Robert continues, "the Russells have been at Haxby for generations...only to be turfed out by a newspaper baron whose only redeeming feature, as far as I can see, is a surfeit of cash."

"He _is _buying Haxby for Mary," she replies wearily.

Robert scoffs. "I only wish I could believe that."

"Surely you don't want Haxby kept as an empty shell, darling? Wouldn't you'd rather see it properly restored and maintained?"

She recalls saying the same thing yesterday and Robert's reply was the same as well - the usual tirade about 'ruining Haxby', 'sensitive restoration' and 'what's good enough for Downton...'

_When did their conversations get so predictable?_

Her attention drifts to her own plans for the day, mentally preparing herself for the inevitable negotiations with Clarkson. Now if she can just agree a common position with Thomas first...

"...I'll see you at luncheon, then." He follows her down the stairs.

"I can't darling. I've got too much work. I'm losing two of the nurses and I must rearrange the roster."

"But I'll be on my own," he replies mournfully. "I wish you'd told me. I could have fixed something up for myself."

"You could always ask Major Clarkson to join you. If you can't be on your own for _one_ luncheon." She can't hide the exasperation in her voice - is luncheon _really _all he has to worry about? Yet as she heads to her makeshift office, she knows she ought to spend some time with her husband, to indulge him a little-

"Your Ladyship, Dr Clarkson is here. I've shown him to the Library."

"Thank you, Carson."

* * *

><p><em>Something has to be done.<em>

_The morning at Haxby was pleasant enough, if he ignored the haughty remarks about 'your lot' and 'my lot.' But as soon as Mary's duty was complete, she left him to 'take Matthew out'. Richard's suggestion that he accompany them on their walks was met with horror._

_It is not enough, he realises, to have her marry him when her heart, and her time, will always belong to Matthew Crawley. Mary needs a rival for her affections and Matthew needs a new nursemaid._

_He marches with purpose into the Library._

_"Richard." The Countess stands from her desk to meet him - if she is surprised to see him, she doesn't show it._

_He sees the neatly ordered forms and notes on the bureau, wondering whether to offer help and quickly dismissing the idea. He knows from experience how satisfying it is to be in charge and see the results of hard work. And at least she is doing something productive, unlike her husband who struts around in a Colonel's uniform despite never having been near the Front._

_"The hospital must be quite a logistical and organisational challenge," he begins._

_"Indeed." She smiles at him expectantly, her tone clearly suggests he is keeping her from that 'challenge'. He quickly drops the attempted flattery and comes straight to the point:_

_"Mary and I have just returned from Haxby Park. I intend to put an offer in when I return to London."_

_Her smile softens. "I expect Mary is delighted to be so close to Downton."_

_"You would think so." He is unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. They both know Mary has never shown anything resembling delight in his presence. He strolls to the window, unsurprised to see his fiancé sat outside with Matthew Crawley, deep in conversation. He is instantly jealous - how can she talk to Matthew with such easiness when she shows him only cold disdain? And what are they talking about so earnestly?_

_She joins him at the window, following his gaze to the two people on the bench. "I'm afraid Mary has taken Matthew's condition very badly." Her tone was quiet and wistful. If he was ever in any doubt that the family wanted Mary and Matthew to marry, the confirmation was there in her voice._

_"Clearly," he retorts in frustration . Her eyes widen in surprise at his abrupt manner. He forces himself to speak softly. "And there's no chance of recovery?"_

_She shakes her head sadly._

_Normally, he would allow himself to consider the implications for the estate and the family - he may not be familiar with aristocratic customs but he understands the rules of primogeniture. For now, he has only one concern:_

_"You'd think he was in Mary's sole charge. I worry it will mean a big adjustment for her, when we marry."_

_She immediately grasps his implication and carefully reassures him: "I don't think Matthew has any desire to stop her marrying, Richard. Quite the contrary."_

_"Maybe. But is she as convinced as she is that they have no future?"_

_"What are you saying?"_

_He finally has her full attention; she is taking his concerns seriously. "I suppose I'm asking whether you want Mary to have children. Because if you do, isn't it time for Lavinia Swire to come back into his life?"_

_He steps back slightly, letting his words and his suggestion sink in. Although she continues to stare out the window, he knows what her answer will be. After all, Lady Grantham is pragmatic and sensible and he offers Mary a real marriage and the chance of a family-_

_"But Matthew sent Lavinia away, Richard."_

_"I can bring Lavinia back from London...that's if she'll be made welcome."_

_He tears his attention away from the two people outside to watch her reaction. She is staring intently out the window, deep in concentration. She finally gives a small nod."Perhaps it is for the best."_

_He should be pleased that the Countess has agreed so readily to his plans. Yet he sees the anguish in her eyes. Are those tears? Beneath his reassuring smile, he feels inexplicable guilt._


	5. Difficult Conversations

It pains her to admit it, but Richard Carlisle is right. Mary and Matthew _are_ too close. She may not like her daughter's fiancé, but it will be in everyone's interests for them to spend time together before their wedding.

"How's Matthew?" Cora begins tentatively. She is treated to a withering look. Her eldest daughter has always been able to expertly turn their exchanges into an exasperating battle of wits and wills. Yet at some point in the last few years her intelligent, spirited girl has been transformed into the cold, cynical woman before her.

"Well, he's not getting any better, if that's what you mean."

"Darling," she begins slowly, determined to make Mary understand the right thing to do, "I think it's wonderful that you're spending so much time with Matthew - we all do - but...well, don't you think you're rather neglecting Richard?"

"Matthew needs me." It is stated as a plain, indisputable fact.

"I agree he needs someone to care for him," she replies gently, "but you are engaged."

"So what are you suggesting?" She sees the wide-eyed shock and outrage in her daughter's eyes. "We hire a nurse? Or, tell me, has Edith volunteered, because Matthew would rather-"

"Mary!" She raises her voice to cut off the angry outburst. "You are engaged to someone else. People will start to wonder..."

A disdainful roll of the eyes. "Oh for heaven's sake, this is _Matthew_ we're talking about. What are you suggesting he would - he _could_ - possibly do?"

"Nevertheless," she adopts the same matter-of-fact tone she had when Mary was a child, "it is usual to spend time with someone before you marry."

"Don't worry, Mama. I fully intend to marry Sir Richard. At least then I'll no longer present a problem to you..."

"Mary-"

"...Now if I were you, I would turn your attention to Matthew. You could hide him away with a nurse, even get the entail changed now that..." She is unable to finish the sentence. Cora can hear the emotion in her daughter's voice - if it were anyone else, there would be tears by now.

"Darling-" She reaches a hand across to her, but Mary is already standing up and composing herself. She watches helplessly as her daughter leaves the room.

She closes her eyes in despair. _Mary is clearly still in love with Matthew._ But wouldn't a marriage to Richard be better for Mary? Is it worth risking scandal for a lifetime spent nursing the man she loves?

She already knows the answer. Richard's plan is the right thing for both Mary _and _Matthew. Why then is she dreading Lavinia's return?

* * *

><p><em>"Of course I still love Matthew."<em>

_"And I believe he still loves you," he replies softly and slowly, registering the glimmer of hope in Lavinia's expression. "Surely-" he pauses, to make sure his next words are properly emphasised "-love, true love, won't let anything get in its way."_

_"But Sir Richard, the last time I saw Matthew, he sent me away. He said he didn't want to ruin my life."_

_"I'm sure that's very noble of him. I would expect no less. But-" he peers at her carefully "-is it what you want? Is it truly in Matthew's best interests?"_

_This will be the deciding factor - what is best for her beloved Matthew. Having provided a problem, he now provides the solution. "I can take you to see Matthew on Saturday."_

_"But Lord and Lady Grantham-"_

_"-they are expecting you," he quickly cuts off the objection, returning her attention once again to her beloved. She is clearly used to someone else deciding what is best for her; so he takes charge and tells her what to do."Tell him you mean to look after him. Don't let him send you away again."_

_In the end, it is far too easy._

_The Countess springs into action when they arrive - any remaining doubts are quashed by her warm, effusive welcome. He relaxes and watches with interest and admiration as Lavinia and Matthew are adroitly paired up in the Library. She studiously avoids his approving smile. Her eyes are instead locked nervously on her husband as he sits back down with a muttered "I think I've rather lost my appetite for polite conversation."_

_Richard follows Mary as the rest of the family filter out the room, leaving Lady Grantham to the undoubted ire of her husband._

* * *

><p>Robert is still brooding; he hasn't spoken to her since their heated exchange after dinner. He had stayed in the dining room nursing his brandy and wounded pride. Now he is in bed with his back to her, clearly not reading the book in front of him. She wraps her arm round his shoulders in an attempt to placate him. She is surprised when he stiffens but doesn't respond. She makes her intentions clearer with a firm kiss to the back of his neck. The book finally snaps shut and he turns round.<p>

"I don't know what makes me more angry," his voice seems to rise with every syllable, "the way you colluded with Carlisle to bring Lavinia back, or the fact you did it in such an underhand way. Do you really have so little regard for me that you would embarrass me like that at dinner?"

"That was never my intention. I didn't expect Richard to just burst in like that." She sits up in bed, having unconsciously backed away from him. "But the fact is Mary shouldn't be spending that much time with Matthew when she is engaged to someone else."

"Mathew is family, Cora." She turns her head away, rolling her eyes at his naivety. Mary's relationship with Matthew is much more complicated than mere _family_. "And surely you can't deny the man company after everything that's happened."

"Of course not, darling. But why can't that be with his fiancée? So Mary can spend time with hers."

"It still doesn't justify the way you callously separated them."

She leans back against the headboard, pressing her eyes shut. She tries to keep her tone light and reasonable, ignoring the vitriol. "Robert, she can't marry Matthew, not-" she just stops herself from using the word 'lame' "-when she's already turned him down once."

"I don't understand why she is marrying Carlisle in the first place," he grumbles, his voice at last dropping to a more reasonable volume.

"I'm sure Mary has her reasons," she replies wearily.

He doesn't say any more, just turns the light out with a grunt and turns away from her. They lie in uncomfortable silence. She knows he is still cross with her, yet there seems nothing more she can say or do. Their argument is a near repeat of the conversation with Mary. She is reminded once again just how _alike_ her daughter and husband are - fierce loyalty and quick-temper blind them to the long-term, practical reality of a situation. Richard Carlisle is surely in a better position to provide for and protect Mary. As she drifts to sleep, she convinces herself that Robert will have calmed down by morning...She stirs when the mattress moves next to her; she opens her eyes to see her husband's back as he leaves her for his dressing room.

* * *

><p><em>Richard is satisfied. With Lavinia successfully occupying Matthew, Mary belongs to him. Given time, his stubborn, wilful fiancée will come to love him. He strolls to the Library to offer the Countess his thanks and share his delight.<em>

_"Sir Richard." She rises from her desk to meet him, yet there is no welcoming smile. He is granted a brief look of disdain before her attention turns to a spot on the carpet._

_"Lady Grantham - Cora...", he falters. Neither address seems quite right, and he realises the gratitude he had come to offer will be dreadfully inappropriate. He recalls the shock on the Earl's face last night, followed by a wholly unconvincing welcome. Judging from her pained expression this morning, his wife has clearly borne the brunt of his anger._

_"I'm sorry if last night caused any difficulties," he begins slowly. He is genuinely sympathetic; while she has done the only sensible thing, her husband would rather Mary were nursing a helpless invalid._

_She looks up in alarm, and he realises his sympathy is equally inappropriate. The right thing to do would have been to exercise discretion and to have at least pretended that he hadn't heard the Earl's voice last night._

_"Cora." He takes a small step towards her, finally sure what to say. "I do mean to make Mary happy. I will be a good husband to her," he says softly._

_"Of course," she nods, but her voice is flat and unconvinced._

_"I've completed the purchase of Haxby," he continues with growing confidence, "and I'm sure you already know I've asked Carson..."_

_He sees a bemused smirk form on her lips and snaps before he has a chance to check his anger: "I don't see how that's so funny."_

_She is looking at him now - studying him uncomfortably as if really noticing him for the first time. Finally:_

_"I'm sorry, Sir Richard." The impassive mask returns. He is being dismissed. "I need to prepare for the Armistice celebrations. Please excuse me."_

_"Without sharing the joke?"_

_She hesitates for a moment in the doorway, clearly deciding how much to disclose. "I was just " - she carefully searches for the right words - "reminded of someone."_

_A brusque nod and he is left alone. He stands still for a moment, taking calming breaths while transforming his anger and confusion into coherent thought. He glances round; the Library still has signs of her presence - the lingering smell of perfume, the ornate fountain pen, the neatly-piled forms with her cursive script and signature. As he looks round the room, his anger is replaced by a blend of curiosity and admiration. This woman is a superb hostess and socialite, someone at ease in this world of titles and unwritten rules. With his direction, she can be relied upon to do the right thing._

_Cora Crawley would make a good ally._

_But there is so much he doesn't know about her - so much to find out._

_As he leaves the Library, his mood is almost cheerful. Future visits to Downton will be enriched by more than Mary's company._

* * *

><p>AN: I have an assignment for 9th March, but I will try to post a new chapter (**Disappointment)** soon afterwards - concentrating (if I can get to grips with them) mainly on Cora/Robert. The next few chapters will still loosely follow S2, but will steadily become more and more AU. I am very excited by the direction this fic is going - I plan a big surprise (for the reader and the characters) in Chapter 7!

Oh...and I will try to update every week from now on. Promise!


	6. Disappointments

Cora is left alone with Sir Richard. _Again._ When he arrived this afternoon, Mary was nowhere to be seen and Robert discovered an urgent need to talk to Carson. Unlike her husband and daughter, Cora cannot not find it in her to be anything other than friendly and civil.

But no more than friendly and civil.

They sit uncomfortably in the drawing room. After the usual pleasantries, there seems little else to say.

"Life must be very different now, after all the activity of the war years. You must have more free time now the soldiers have left."

"It's no different from before the war, Richard," she lies. Before the war, she had a easy routine - chats with Robert about the news and correspondence, regular walks and needlework, even preparing for dinner. Now she barely sees her husband and everything else seems frivolous. She blames herself - she had neglected him during the war and they had drifted apart. They seem to argue about (or rather, he takes offence at) everything now - the latest disagreement concerned Robert's inexplicable loyalty to his valet. She wishes she could turn the clock back and return to their old familiarity. Perhaps it will just take time, or perhaps too much has happened between them-

_He _is watching her, fingers drumming thoughtfully on the arm of the chair. This man notices everything and misses nothing - not a good quality for a potential husband. "It must be good to have the rooms back to normal." Even his sweeping glance round the room makes Cora uncomfortable - she can imagine every detail being recorded and filed away for a potential news story. "I'll have to start sourcing furnishings for Haxby soon, once the modernisations are complete. I'm hoping to take Mary to a few auctions."

"That will be nice for you both." At last, she can sound vaguely enthusiastic. "It must be very inspiring to start completely from scratch."

"Actually, it's quite daunting. Decor and furnishings are not really my area of expertise." He smiles awkwardly; she briefly sees the other side to Richard Carlisle - the one which is uncertain and eager to please - the one which is almost endearing. "I expect you were in the same position here - when Robert became Earl."

"We made _some _changes, yes." She vividly remembers that battle. Her attempts to remove the clutter and dark, heavy furnishings were met with hostility by the new Dowager Countess. Robert had been no help - varying between bored indifference to outright rejection of her more fashionable ideas.

"But I suppose you didn't have a completely free hand-" he replies with a knowing glimmer in his eyes.

"It was something of a compromise," she concedes, repeating her husband's familiar speech: "Robert's task is to pass on the estate intact to the next generation - he sees himself as a custodian, not an owner."

"But there have been some improvements? The telephone? Electricity?"

"I think modern bathrooms - with _showers -_ may be a little too much."

"Hmm," he smirks. "Perhaps they will be acceptable when they are little less _modern."_

She smiles at the thought. She is glad when Robert joins them at last - her husband's melancholy mood is just the right antidote to the growing conviviality in the room.

Richard grins at her while speaking to her husband. "We were just talking about modernising Downton."

"I am not free to make wholesale changes to Downton, Richard," he proclaims. "I am a custodian, not an owner. My task is to pass it on to the next generation."

Cora has heard the speech before, but not with Richard's knowing stare and gleam in his eye. He has goaded him deliberately. She turns away, biting her lip to prevent the smile. It would not do to make fun of her husband, especially not in front of this man.

* * *

><p><em>Richard sits in his room the next morning, alone with his thoughts.<em>

Matthew Crawley will walk again.

_The family's wild histrionics and the doctor's incompetence last night would normally be a source of amusement to him. But when Matthew declared his plan to marry Lavinia, at least three pairs of eyes - including his own - looked towards Mary. Her insincere congratulations and the shock on her face told him all he needed to know:_

She is still in love with Matthew Crawley.

_What does that damn heir have that he doesn't? What more does he have to do to earn his fiancée's love? _

* * *

><p>Cora sits at her vanity table, barely noticing O'Brien behind her.<p>

_Matthew can walk._ _Matthew is going to marry Lavinia._ She remembers Mary's shock at their announcement last night, and is consumed by guilt. What if she hadn't brought Lavinia back? Mary would still have had to marry Richard - the consequences of the scandal becoming public were too awful to contemplate...

She sighs, picking up the bottle of cologne and dabbing it to her neck.

"Is everything alright, milady?"

"Perfectly alright," she smiles, in a tone which begs O'Brien not to enquire further.

"I could always stay on a bit longer-"

"No, no, I won't hear of it." As well as everything else, her maid is leaving her for a week to attend a family funeral.

She stands, letting O'Brien guide the corset around her waist. The real problem, she knows, is Robert. She longs for the relationship they had shared before the war. Life seemed so much easier then. Before the war, Robert would surely have consulted her before agreeing to a wedding, or at least he would have apologised for being so impulsive. And he would never have been so hurtful-

_Can you hear the words coming out of your mouth? Can you hear how stupid and selfish they are? Because I can._

She closes her eyes as O'Brien tightens the corset, willing the tears away. He had left for his dressing room again last night, barely waiting until he thought she was asleep. It was becoming a habit. Something stopped her from following him. _Was she unsure how he would react? Was she unsure what she would find?_

O'Brien wordlessly reaches for the dress behind her, pretending not to notice her mistress' distress. Cora lifts her arms, taking comfort from the familiar rituals.

She makes a decision. She will ask Isobel about helping with the charity work. It will keep her busy, give her a purpose...and take her mind off everything else.

* * *

><p><em>"Tell me once and for all," he demands. "Are you still in love with Matthew Crawley?"<em>

_"Of course not." Mary looks horrified. "Would I ever admit to loving a man who preferred someone else over me?"_

_It is far from the comprehensive denial he needs. And then Mary leaves him, crossing the drawing room to sit with her sister. He looks round in dismay - the Earl and Matthew are chatting amicably by the fireplace. Cora stands apart from them, watching the scene thoughtfully. He walks over to her. "It appears we've both been abandoned."_

_She looks from him to Mary on the other side of the room. He sees the resigned sigh. "Mary just needs time to-"_

_"She's had more than two years," he cuts her off in irritation. " How much more time does she need?"_

_No reply. Her eyes flick back to her husband, who is still deep in conversation with Matthew. He tries a more conciliatory tone:_

_"How do I make Mary love me?"_

_"I don't think you can __make_ _someone love you, Richard," she replies quietly._

_He thinks of the money and effort he has expended on Mary's behalf - the scandal, Haxby, visits to Downton. She should at least be grateful to him._

_"I bought Haxby for her," he pronounces._

_"I don't think Mary's interested in property. And Haxby isn't a home, it's a statement..." she trails off wistfully. He recalls something she said last year:_

_"Who do I remind you of?"_

_She hesitates briefly before replying: "My father."_

_She meets her husband's eye and nods. The small group in the drawing room begins to disperse. She moves away from him, cutting off their conversation. _

_"Tell me. Please." He just stops himself from grabbing her arm to stop her leaving. Instead he waits. Finally-_

_"Have you heard of Idle Hour?"_

_He shakes his head._

_"My father built it for my mother..." she speaks softly, looking beyond him as if reaching back to a long-suppressed memory "...a birthday present..." He listens patiently to her description of the Newport house - Beaux-Arts, walnut-panelled walls, Corinthian columns, modern plumbing and electricity... he makes a mental note to do more research later._

_"That's quite a gift."_

_She nods."A real labour of love."_

_"What happened?"_

_She tries to shrug nonchalantly. "My mother preferred New York, so the house was mainly kept on to impress visitors..." Her next words are barely whispered. "...it burned down in 1899. My father died a few months later..."_

_He watches her compose himself, resisting the urge to reach out and comfort her. Eventually she looks up. "Make Haxby a home, Richard - stop trying to impress. And spend time with Mary. Show her that you care about her."_

_He nods with genuine understanding and sympathy. "Thank you."_

* * *

><p>AN: Thank you to **Lady Grantham **for boosting my confidence. I've vowed not to declare my worries at the end of each chapter, but I'd value any (positive or negative!) feedback.

Idle Hour was a real Newport house which did indeed burn down in 1899.

Next chapter (**The Shock - **and it should be - I just hope I haven't given too much away!) will be quite short and fun to write so should be up at the weekend.

Oh - and thank you so much for the Highclere Nomination!


	7. The Shock Pt1

_Sir Richard rises early, as is his custom. He slowly sips his tea in the drawing room, ignoring the disapproving frowns of the servants scuttling round him. He looks at his surroundings afresh. Beneath the grand chandeliers, portraits and heirlooms accumulated over centuries, he sees comfortable sofas, solid furniture and colourful flowers. He smiles fondly, recalling the Countess' words from last night._

_He strolls into the dining room, disappointed to find the Earl sat alone reading his correspondence. Mary has left him alone yet again._

_When the Earl pays him no attention, he sullenly gets the morning papers out, glancing at each headline with indifference._ _"I see the peace conference has started."_

_"Hmm." The Earl doesn't look up. Richard abandons the attempt at conversation; the uncomfortable silence between them is broken only when he turns each page of the newspaper._

_The tension is relieved by the Countess - Cora's - arrival. She flicks through the letters in front of her without sitting down. He keeps his eyes down on his newspaper, listening with curiosity to the conversation between husband and wife._

_First, idle chatter about maids which her husband clearly is not listening to-_

_"Why are you up so early?"_

_"I'm meeting Isobel," she replies cheerfully. "She wants me to help with her refugees."_

_"I thought the whole point of Mama arranging that was to keep her out of your hair."_

_"I know. But now the soldiers have gone, I do have a lot of time on my hands and maybe I can be useful."_

_Richard nods in approval, recognising her need to keep busy and focused. She has found a new purpose - a purpose which is entirely lost on her husband:_

_"Why is it different from before the war?"_

_"I don't know exactly. It just is. Maybe the war's changed me. I guess it's changed everybody."_

_"Not me."_

_No, __he__ hasn't changed, he's just stopped wearing a military uniform. Richard languidly turns the page of the newspaper, pretending to study the text._

_"Don't be too sure." She pecks her husband's cheek and pats his back - the fond way you would treat a child or a family pet. Richard smirks into his newspaper. "If I'm not back before luncheon, don't wait."_

_He thoughtfully watches her leave. She is an intelligent woman; a woman in need of a purpose; a woman who has clearly outgrown her husband._

_A woman who interests him more with every visit._

* * *

><p>Cora sits glumly at her dressing table, her optimism and cheerfulness from this morning all but vanished. She has discovered the local refugee charity expertly marshalled by Isobel Crawley, a woman who has exhausted Cora's patience today with her endless interference. <em>Why can't that woman trust people to get on with a job?<em>

"...so I don't think I'm really needed. I'll find something else to do," she finishes her brief account of the day. Her new maid merely smiles slightly in the mirror.

She already misses O'Brien. If _O'Brien_ were here, she would have cheered her up by now with gossip from the Servants' Hall or a witty observation concerning Mrs Crawley. Cora consoles herself that O'Brien will only be gone a week. And she can hardly begrudge her maid time to attend a funeral.

She looks at O'Brien's replacement in the mirror, standing uncertainly behind her. Suppressing a sigh, she reaches for the correct jewellery and passes it back to her.

Maybe she shouldn't have changed the arrangements this morning - Anna would undoubtedly have been a better choice of lady's maid. But however professional Anna is, it would have been an awkward week for both of them - Cora had made her disapproval of Bates rather too clear recently.

She watches in the mirror, noting the nervous concentration as the new maid fastens the clasp of the necklace. This woman is more than competent; it's not her fault she doesn't know her mistress' routine or where things are kept. She's hardly been given time to learn.

Cora smiles warmly, searching for some kind of conversation to ease the painful tension.

"It must be nice to be so close to home," she starts with the sort of open-ended statement which most people respond to enthusiastically.

A brief nod, a mumbled "milady". Cora tries again:

"And you have a child?"

"Yes, but he's old enough to look after himself now, and my mother can..."

"It's alright." Once again, Cora tries to sound encouraging. "What's his name?"

"Freddie, milady."

The door opens behind them. Cora turns round in relief, glad to end the awkward conversation. "Hello, darl-"

She just sees Robert's back as he abruptly leaves the room again, shutting the door with a faint bang. She stares at the closed door in bewilderment_._

"Thank you, Jane. I can manage," she murmurs. She glances at the maid briefly, noticing the flush to her cheeks. Cora rolls her eyes in exasperation, once more mourning O'Brien's absence.

_It's going to be a long week._

* * *

><p><em>AN: So...Disappointing? Surprising? __Credible__?_

_I was going to do Robert's POV as well, but thought that would spoil the narrative and is probably best left to the imagination!_

_I have a BIG work deadline for 26th March. Although the next chapter (title will give too much away - but it will be entirely Cora-centric) will also be relatively short, it's unlikely I will be able to post it until after the 26th._

_Sorry to keep you guessing. I hope it will be worth the wait - I should be able to post fairly regularly afterwards._


	8. The Shock Pt 2

"Cora." He almost spills his drink as he spins round, clearly surprised - _shocked? -_ to see her with him in the Library.

"Hello, darling." She meets his eyes with a playful smile. "I had hoped to find you in here."

"Now is not a good time, Cora." He speaks with the slow authority he adopts when he is annoyed or angry. He has already turned his back to her, parting the thick Library curtains in order to look out the window - although she doesn't know what he expects to _see _in the pitch blackness outside.

Normally she would feel slighted by the abrupt dismissal and the way he is ignoring her now. A few years ago, she would have left him alone until he came to bed with an explanation and a sheepish apology. Sometimes the making up afterwards was almost worth the argument itself.

It's so different now. She had been looking forward to her husband's company tonight, hoping he could cheer her up after a difficult day with Mrs Crawley and her refugees. Instead, he had left her room abruptly before dinner and ignored any attempts at conversation during the meal itself.

They had drifted apart during the war - she had become tired of Robert's anxieties and had thrown herself into the convalescent home. They don't seem to talk anymore and the sheer intensity and volatility of his moods make her nervous. Yet she still craves his company, or rather the good-natured and affectionate husband she used to know.

She crosses the Library until she is standing behind him at the window, placing her hand on his back. Her fingers gently stroke his shoulder blade through the heavy dinner jacket. "Darling," she whispers. "Tell me what's wrong. Perhaps I can help."

He sips from the glass in his hand and continues looking out the window. Undeterred, she wraps her arm around his back and leans into him. She breathes deeply, enjoying the simple sensations of being close to him - the smell of whisky and the feel of the harsh dinner jacket on her cheek. She peers out into the darkness while searching for something to break the silence. She can just see the familiar outlines of the cedar trees in the fading light. Beyond the trees is _their _bench.

"Do you remember the summers when we used to sit outside after dinner?" she murmurs into his shoulder. It had started the first summer they had spent at Downton together. After one too many uncomfortable after-dinner conversations with his parents, Robert had led her to the bench outside. They had talked into the early hours, and once conversation was exhausted, they drifted back to bed and each other's arms. It had quickly became a pleasant habit.

"That was a long time ago." His voice is quiet and wistful. When she looks at him, he seems haunted, as if searching back for memories - _feelings? - _he had buried.

She meets his eyes. "Robert-"

The door opens behind them. She automatically steps apart from her husband in frustration. Her new ladies maid stands in the doorway, clearly horrified to be interrupting them.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's alright, Jane. I'll be..." She tries to look reassuring, but quickly realises Jane is not looking at her. Cora tracks Jane's gaze to Robert. He hasn't turned round. Instead he stands with his back to them, completely still, assiduously examining the contents of his glass. She looks back to Jane with a small smile to hide her exasperation. What she sees as the door closes fills her with horror.

Jane is looking at Robert with a mixture of concern and..._infatuation_? She involuntarily makes the connection - Jane's intense discomfort in her room, Robert's mood now..._leaving her to sleep in his dressing room._

He drains his drink and set the glass down on the desk. Her throat constricts as her mind is filled with images of him and Jane. What do they do? What does _he _do...?

"Shall we go up?" His voice startles her. She swallows the lump in her throat, unable to speak or respond. She lets him take her elbow and lead her upstairs.

* * *

><p>By the time she gets into bed, Cora has convinced herself that the incident in the Library is nothing more than her imagination - one look of concern is hardly evidence of a liaison. It doesn't stop her mind endlessly replaying the scene in the Library, or from conjuring up images of Robert and Jane in his dressing room.<p>

"Robert," she begins as soon as he comes in her room, desperately needing reassurance and relief from the empty, sickening feeling in her stomach.

He looks at her expectantly. She speaks slowly, choosing each word carefully: "Why do you go back to your dressing room...after going to bed?"

He frowns, the way he always does when she asks him a difficult question. She waits for a few nervous moments while he unties the knot of his gown and slips it off his shoulders. Finally he slings the gown onto the nearest chair and joins her in bed-

"I've just needed to unwind. I haven't been sleeping very well."

She nods, quickly burrowing under the blankets and turning away from him to hide her tears. The instant relief is replaced by remorse and guilt. _She _should be the one easing his worries. He should not be retreating to his dressing room (_alone?_) at night - otherwise, what is the point of sleeping together in the first place? What has happened to them? What has gone so wrong? Has he really found solace with a maid? Her mind considers just what _unwind _could mean...She still cannot rid herself of _that_ image of the two of them in his dressing room...

She is jolted by her husband curling up alongside her. He reaches across to take her hand. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply, attempting to suppress (if not quite forget) her insecurities. She concentrates on the feel of his arms encasing her, his warm breath on her neck and his thumb stroking the back of her hand. As she drifts to sleep, she hears her name murmured against her hair.

"Cora...I'm sorry."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Sorry I took so long to update - blame the usual work and family commitments, and I found this chapter very difficult to write. Please be kind! Hopefully you 'get' what I was trying to achieve -I wanted Cora to suspect Jane/Robert but to not __know__ anything -hence the confusion and convincing herself she's mistaken. (I was going to put Robert's POV in as well, but thought it would spoil the narrative and clarify things a bit too much - better to guess what's in his mind!) Finally, it's 1919 - so I think Cora would feel guilty for her marriage drifting apart and to want to "fix" it! (I'm not suggesting it __is__ her fault!)_


	9. The Shock Pt3

Richard alights from the train at Downton and immediately searches for his fiancée. He finds her standing a little apart from the crowd of passengers, gloved hands holding a clutch bag in front of her. She greets him with a tight smile and a unnaturally cheerful "Welcome back."

"I trust Matthew and Lavinia's wedding preparations are going well?"

"The wedding is still going ahead if that's what you mean."

"No, that's not what I meant. It was a perfectly innocent enquiry."

"I wasn't aware you made _innocent _enquires, Richard."

He hears the challenge in her voice, daring him to respond in a similar manner. Instead he takes her arm and stiffly leads her off the platform while his irritation subsides. Mary's sharp intelligence had been one of her main attractions. He knew she would question him and play an active part in his life. Still he yearns for the affection she so generously bestows on Matthew Crawley.

The silence between them is broken only when he sees the vehicle she has led him to. It is not a _vehicle _at all. It a carriage - undoubtedly from the last century and distinctly out of place in the sea of cars around them.

"You cannot seriously expect..." His voice rises in incredulity and annoyance, looking with distaste at the horses snorting and stamping their hooves. He briefly considers the possibility of commandeering a motor car.

"It's that or the governess cart." She doesn't smile, but the mocking tone betrays her amusement at his plight. He reluctantly concedes, still grumbling as he helps her into the carriage:

"Problem with the motor?"

"Problem with the chauffeur."

"Oh?"

She looks out the window while telling him the tale of her sister's wartime love affair. Richard momentarily forgets his annoyance with Mary and the discomfort of the rattling carriage. He can already picture the story in one of the dreadful romance novels sold on the station platform: "_Lady Sybil and the Chauffeur". _He smiles at the thought.

"So he made the announcement last night? Your parents must have been astonished?"

"They are up there with her now, trying to change her mind."

"I expect this news elevates me somewhat in your father's estimation."

She finally turns round to look at him, disdain evident in her expression: "I wouldn't get too carried away, Richard."

* * *

><p>"Your threats are hollow, don't you see? I won't be received in London, I won't be welcome at court? How can I make you understand, I couldn't care less?"<p>

Robert has sunk to a chair in defeat. Cora has to admire her daughter's spirit, if not her judgement. She had always expected Sybil would fight to do something radical and different. Never had she imagined the fight would be over her plans to marry their chauffeur.

"Let me talk to her..."

"Why?" he spits. "So she can twist you round her little finger? So you can both make plans for the wedding?"

"I don't think _your_ approach is working, darling." Her voice is calm and measured, a marked contrast to her hostile glare and the anger racing between them. Finally unable to bear the tension any longer, she sweeps out.

Her composure crumbles as soon as she gets outside. She stands uncertainly in the corridor, biting her lip to stem the tears, too pre-occupied to see the figure coming towards her:

"How are you getting on? Has Robert promised to disown her yet?"

She instinctively straightens up under the regal gaze of her mother-in-law: "Not yet."

"Nil desperandum, my dear," the Dowager proclaims in her inimitable style. "Sybil may be headstrong but she's not foolish."

Cora nods, not certain whether the words are meant as encouragement or reproach. She is nevertheless glad to see her - Robert's temper and wilder threats may be regulated by his mother's presence. She walks away, resolving to speak to her daughter in private later.

She remembers the Dowager's repeated questions during the war: _Are you sure she has no one in mind? When I was her age..._ She had shrugged off the speculation. Sybil would take a different path from her sisters - a career, an education, even a political venture..._Not_ the well-worn route to marriage and a family. She is disappointed, both in Sybil's choice and in herself for not spotting the burgeoning romance. _You would have noticed_, she chides herself, _if you weren't so pre-occupied during the war..._

She is glad to reach her room and sink back luxuriously into the chaise longue, enjoying the time alone without her husband's glum presence or O'Brien's knowing sympathy. O'Brien's expected week-long leave of absence had lasted just two days. She was certain her maid's sudden return and Jane's equally sudden departure was her husband's doing, but she hadn't asked any questions. She had naively assumed everything would go back to normal when Jane left. They had together tried to resurrect their care-free, pre-war habits - the leisurely conversations after breakfast, walks in the grounds, night-time intimacies...It hadn't worked. The cheerful teasing and banter was gone, replaced instead by a strange civility, in which they both danced around sensitive subjects. She had became bored of the same routines and started using Matthew's wedding preparations as an excuse to leave.

His passion and desire in her bed was a striking contrast the usual daytime restraint. Even as he moved fervently against her, lips clamped to her neck, she tried not to think about what he did with Jane. _How was it different? What did they do? What did __she__ do? What does he prefer?_

The loud footsteps in the next room indicate Robert's return. She listens to the sound of drawers being wrenched open and slammed shut. Clearly he is angry with Sybil's defiance, but what is he _doing _in his dressing room? She walks to the connecting door and pushes it open without bothering to knock.

"Robert?"

No answer; he has already left. Her eyes sweep round the room and pause treacherously at the bed. She resolutely twists her head, having no desire to relive her already lurid imaginings of what when on there.

As she turns round, she recognises a small notebook on the floor - the personal account book Robert takes into the town or to meetings with Murray. He must have dropped it in his haste to leave. She picks it up and flicks through, smiling fondly at the laboured calculations and numerous crossings out. Robert has never had a 'head for figures,' yet he still stubbornly insists on maintaining a personal ledger. She recognises several names - _Knowles, Cross, Moorsun..._

_Moorsun. _She quickly turns a few more pages, counting the name at least once more. Jane still lives in the village, she realises. He is paying her small amounts for trinkets or clothes.

She breathes in deeply as her shock turns to anger. She is tired of the casual rebukes and humiliations; she has no doubt the staff all know about Robert's liaisons. As she breathes out, she comes to a decision - toconfront him and demand an explanation for his behaviour.

She throws the account book back onto the floor and rushes out. She heads downstairs, mentally rehearsing what she will say to Robert when she finds him. It is only when she descends the staircase that she becomes aware of someone watching - studying - her intently. She peers down, inwardly groaning when she sees the slim figure waiting for her in the Great Hall.

Sir Richard Carlisle.

* * *

><p><em>AN: This chapter ended up differently from how I planned it (hence the rather lame chapter title)! I know melancholy Cora might be getting a bit much - but she has good reason, and... it gets better. (You know where this fic is heading!) The next chapter (__**The Project**__) will require some thought (and I also have some work to catch up on). I will try to get something up for next weekend._

_Thank you so much for the reviews so far. Each chapter seems to produce a new crisis of confidence (especially when I read some of the other fics on here), so any feedback is much appreciated._


	10. The Proposal

He doesn't mean to stare at her, yet he cannot tear his eyes away as she descends the staircase. His research has provided the plain, dry facts of her life, but no amount of research can explain his fascination with her.

He is more than disconcerted when she walks past him without acknowledgement, yet the irritation is swiftly replaced by curiosity and a inexplicable yearning for recognition. He follows her automatically.

She is talking to her butler when he comes into the Library. Both turn round to him, but he ignores Carson's grimace. She seems to look straight through him before resuming the conversation:

"I'm looking for His Lordship."

"I believe he's gone into the village, milady."

Even from this distance, he can see the way she swallows hard. There is an awkward, strained lull while she regains her composure:

"Lady Sybil?"

"The hospital, milady," Carson replies impassively.

The butler is dismissed with a curt nod, yet still Richard is not acknowledged. She looks down at her husband's writing desk, tapping her fingernails against it in a slow rhythm. Her cheeks are flushed and her breathing is slow and deliberate. She looks more uncertain and nervous than he has ever seen her. Every shred of common sense and good manners tell Richard he should leave. He stays, riveted by a need to console and comfort her. His minds quickly works through possibilities - Sybil's possible elopement? Financial worries? A hidden family secret - the Pamuk affair?

"Is there anything I can help with..." The words come naturally and unrehearsed.

She notices him as if for the first time, gracing him a faint smile. "Would you like a drink?" She walks to the tray holding her husband's whiskey decanter and glasses.

"Let me." He rushes to her side. She lets him take the decanter and pour the drinks, grazing her fingers as he hands her a glass. Their eyes meet briefly - enough time to see the marks left by her tears.

"I remember how this room used to look." He talks quickly, attempting to break the heavy tension between them. "The divide between the room-" he indicates with a sweeping gesture -"was there. Your desk-" he points towards the window "-chairs moved here and-" he turns round "-the games table was behind us."

He looks back, pleased to see the bemused smile on her lips. "You're very observant, Richard." She takes a gulp from the whiskey glass, shudders at the bitter taste and sets the glass down on the bureau. He has to sip from his own glass to hide his amusement.

Their eyes meet again, but this time she holds his gaze, her expression revealing a tenderness that extends much further than hostess and guest. He feels that familiar rush of pleasure, yet resists the urge to embrace her. This unexpected rapport is worth much more than an awkward kiss.

"I'm going up to Haxby this afternoon. I would appreciate your support."

She has straightened up, regaining some of the composure of the Countess of Grantham. "Mary ought to be supporting you," she states firmly.

"Mary is coming with me to the auctions but I don't know what to bid for. Just take a look at the auction catalogues and tell me what you think."

He sees the uncertainty in her expression, and berates himself for appearing too forceful. He drops his voice to a seductive whisper.

"I value your opinions, Cora. If we work together, we can convince Mary that I have _some_ idea of style and refinement."

Instinct tells him she will consent to the plan. He is nevertheless surprised by the anticipation and excitement that courses through his body when she agrees.

* * *

><p><em>Cora looked up at the extravagant jumble of spires, gables and arches that made up Haxby Park. She had always found Haxby comfortingly familiar - the grand, continental style recalled the Newport mansions of her youth. She was happy to come back to a place which held such fond memories of care-free pre-war dinner engagements. It was just unfortunate that her return visit was in company of its new owner - Richard Carlisle.<em>

_He stood next to her now, muttering something about 'restoring the house to its prime.' She could not hide her surprise when he produced a brass key from his pocket: _

_"No staff?"_

_He frowned as he unlocked the heavy front door. "The house isn't finished yet. I had meant to start with the butler, but you heard about Carson..."_

_She nodded, recognising his desire not to talk about __that__ incident. Yet she had naively expected to be met by a butler or footman, and the thought of an afternoon alone with Richard Carlisle made her uncomfortable._

_The front door opened with a heavy jolt. It was too late to change her mind now. She stepped inside and walked slowly round the vast entrance hall, recalling her memories and inspecting the recent changes._

_"It's quite the Grand Salon, isn't it?" she gushed, momentarily forgetting her misgivings. "And I'm so glad you've kept the chandelier and the panelled walls. It makes the house much lighter."_

_"So you approve?" He was standing in the middle of the room; only his eyes followed her. She saw the smirk on his lips and replied in the same teasing manner:_

_"So far."_

_He nodded in satisfaction. "The auction catalogues are in the drawing room."_

_She followed him into another empty room, noticing the catalogues on the marble fireplace, alongside an old-fashioned cognac bottle._

_"Ah." He picked up the decorative glass bottle, full of dark caramel liquor. "This bottle of brandy dates back to the Battle of Waterloo." She rolled her eyes when he held it up to the light. "Over 100 years old. I plan to open it when Haxby is completed and opened."_

_"I will never understand the British fascination for old things," she commented, shaking her head in mock despair. "As if older automatically means __better.__"_

_"I agree." He set the bottle back down with a smile. "I don't understand the British fondness for __old__ money and __old__ methods." His tone was still light and mocking, but there was a vulnerability in his expression which she hadn't been aware of before._

_"I know what it's like to be an outsider, Richard," she said quietly._

_His piercing grey eyes stared back at her with a frightening intensity. She took a few steps back while he picked up the auction catalogues. The spell was broken._

_She was grateful for the practical, business-like tone of the rest of the visit. She meandered round the ground floor rooms while Richard trailed behind. She discussed writing desks, settees and display cases; he flicked through the auction catalogues and ticked off her selections. It is only when they returned to the entrance hall that she was reminded of her obligations:_

_"We will have to get back to Downton soon, Richard."_

_"Of course. But I have one more thing to show you."_

_She followed his eager footsteps up the staircase towards one of the bathrooms, where he proudly demonstrated the shower - a bewildering combination of cylinders and spiral tubing over the bathtub. She looked at it dubiously while vaguely listening to his description:_

_"...and the gas burner heats the water as it passes through, which comes out-"_

_"Robert thinks showers are dangerous."_

_"Only if they are not used properly," he snapped. She stared at him in surprise, speculating on the reason for his sudden burst of anger - her criticisms of his cherished project? Or the mention of her husband? _

_"I just think," he continued quietly, " there's something stimulating about standing under a shower in the morning. It's much faster than wallowing in a bath." She smirked, reflecting on the many afternoons she had spent 'wallowing' in the bath..._

_"You don't agree...?" She smiled back at him, noticing the playful, teasing curl of his lips and the way his eyes travelled down her face. She only had to lean in..._

_"We have to get back, Richard." She walked resolutely down the stairs, through the entrance hall and outside. Taking deep gulps of fresh air, she let the alarming rush of emotion and warmth subside._

_Once back at Downton, she could forget that she had been tempted by Richard Carlisle._

* * *

><p>Convention dictates they sit next to each other at dinner but the conversation is one-sided. She refuses to look at him and responds to his questions with one-word answers. Meanwhile Mary is deep in conversation with Matthew Crawley. He doesn't care. The afternoon with Cora has surpassed all his expectations. He is now certain that she is interested in him. He doesn't expect her to act on those feelings - she is too loyal to her husband and too concerned about proprietary - but it doesn't matter. There will be many more opportunities to build on the promising rapport.<p>

_He made the suggestion while driving them back from Haxby: "We will need to go back. You've only seen a few of the rooms so far-"_

_"I don't think that's a good idea, Richard."_

_The response was sharp and resolute, yet she was sat in the back of the car, preventing him from properly assessing her expression. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel while considering what to say._

_"I will be going to the auctions with Mary tomorrow. Do you want to inspect the furniture when it arrives? I will also need your help with the rest of the house - the other ground floor rooms and the first floor."_

_He paused, waiting for a response that didn't come. He tried again: "There is nothing improper in helping to create a home. It can be our project - a wedding present for Mary."_

_Still no answer. He risked a glance at the back seat. She was concentrating on the view from the window, hands clasped tightly in her lap. She needed, he realised, time to reconcile her feelings and make a decision._

_He would wait for her._

The conversation across the dinner table is tediously predictable - Mary and Matthew, the Earl and Sybil sniping, the Dowager's interjections. Richard stops talking and studies her. She is staring across the table at her husband, her expression bordering on contempt. Just as he begins to wonder she is thinking, she turns round and drops her voice to a low whisper:

"I think you made an excellent suggestion this afternoon, Richard."

* * *

><p><em>AN: It's getting exciting! Thank you to __**MissPixieWay**__ for beta'ing these last few chapters. I have a deadline for __27th April__, but I aim to get the next chapter (__**Christmas Celebrations**__, methinks) up for next week._

_From my limited research, Robert isn't entirely wrong about the shower. Until the 1940's, they had no pressure valves or temperature gauges, so they could theoretically "blow up"!_


	11. The Festive Mood

_A/N: I haven't forgotten this fic. Along with the usual time constraints and a never-ending cold, I've also struggled with this chapter - the relationships, the format and the sheer length - I'm now fed up of staring and re-editing it! Anyway, here's a bumper chapter to thank you for your patience._

* * *

><p>She is waiting for him.<p>

Standing outside her home, she watches the car pull up and stop. _He _gets out with the usual lazy swagger, trilby and newspaper under his arm.

He pecks Mary's cheek before turning to her, eyes lingering just a second too long before his lips twist into a smile:

"It's nice of you to meet me."

She tears her eyes away, hoping the colour in her cheeks will be blamed on the cold air. She puts Mary firmly between them as they walk inside:

"I hope you enjoy your first Christmas at Downton, Richard."

"Richard doesn't believe in Christmas, do you?"

"It's true that I usually work over Christmas. It will be nice to spend a few days away from the office this year."

"Well, all work and no play-"

"The presses still need to run, Mary," he snaps, "even over the holidays."

Cora is dismayed by Mary's sharp, defensive manner. It reminds her of the girls growing up - Mary baiting and teasing Edith until finally provoking a reaction. She automatically adopts the role of peacemaker: "Come and see the Christmas Tree."

She stops them in the Great Hall, pleased with the huge fir tree, swathed in tin soldiers, lights, tinsel and decorations. Richard glances at the tree, then turns to her with a tight, knowing smile: "It looks magnificent." He talks in the soft, intimate voice that sends a warm shiver up her spine. She turns away from him, grateful that Mary is too pre-occupied to notice her discomfort.

_"The house will look bare without a Christmas Tree, Richard."_

_"What's the point?" he protested. "No one is going to see it."_

_They both surveyed the entrance hall, the only room at Haxby that had not changed in the last six months._

_"I'm sure Mary would-"_

_"I doubt Mary will be coming back to Haxby much, barring the minor miracle of us marrying before Christmas."_

_He was right. Cora knew in her heart that her daughter and Richard Carlisle were unsuited, but she couldn't contemplate the consequences of their engagement being annulled. What would happen with the Pamuk affair? With Haxby? With her? She firmly put those thoughts out of her mind:_

_"But doesn't decorating put you in a more festive mood?" She raised her eyebrows and smiled at him. It was a smile that, until recently, used to win her husband over. "I can bring a small tree and decorations from Downton."_

_He shrugged in mock defeat:_

_"If it makes you happy, Cora..."_

* * *

><p>Richard's Downton Christmas has fallen short of every expectation. His gift ideas were dismissed as extravagant and showy, so they instead exchanged presents befitting the aristocratic Grantham family - folding slippers, ash trays, tie clips, collar stays - uninspiring gifts which had no doubt been ordered in advance by the butler. <em>She <em>gave her husband a hand-stamped silk tie, offered with a tentative smile and accepted with a gruff nod. He is barely able to contain his envy.

Today she is the Countess of Grantham and consummate hostess - distributing presents, encouraging conversation and organising refreshments. She refuses to look in his direction. He knows the reason - after his shameless flirting in the Hall, even a glance across the room is enough to make her blush and bite her lip.

His irritation simmers throughout the day, manifested in grumbling about the servants and other trivia. Even when seated together at dinner, Cora still refuses to speak to him beyond mere pleasantries. He mutely watches the Christmas pudding - another tired ritual - being brought out to a chorus of oohs and aahs. The conversation, hardly inspiring so far, descends into inane nonsense:

"Don't forget to make a wish."

"Let's all make a wish."

"A wish and a prayer."

"Is this about Bates again?" he is compelled to interrupt, ignoring his fiancée's disapproving glare.

"My new maid says the Servant's Hall is full of it. How terrible it is."

"We mustn't lose faith," Matthew declares confidently. "He's been wrongly accused."

"I'm sure you hope so," he replies smoothly.

"We know so," Matthew's mother replies with finality, daring him to contradict her. Richard looks round the table, seeing a family who seem to believe that because a man is a 'good fellow' and 'one of their own' he is therefore innocent of murder. He turns his attention to the Earl:

"How has Mr Murray managed to have the trial held in York?"

The question has had the desired effect. "I don't know, but thank God he has," he splutters, looking distinctly uncomfortable at his aristocratic privilege and influence being highlighted and questioned. The conversation moves on, but Richard is still aware of the steady gaze across the table, conveying the polite disdain of someone forced to entertain an unwelcome guest. Richard nonchalantly takes a swig from his wine glass. The aversion is mutual.

* * *

><p>Cora wanders into the Library, pleased to see the fire recently lit. She has tried to transform this room from her husband's private domain into something warmer and more comfortable. She glances to the ledgers on the desk. She knows he is still giving money to the maid, but she hasn't challenged him. She doesn't want to know the details and a confrontation would hardly repair their fragile relationship.<p>

She is settled by the fire with a book when he comes in:

"_This_-" he hands her a letter "-came for you in the evening post." The next words are practically spat out: "It's from Sybil."

She scans the letter, registering Sybil's chatter about Dublin and Branson. She re-reads one sentence and gasps. He spins round:

"What is it?"

"Sybil's pregnant."

"I see," he sighs, hardly the reaction she expects from someone about to become a grandfather. "So that's it then. No return. She's crossed the Rubicon. I wondered why she didn't ask to come for Christmas."

"Would you have allowed it?"

_She trailed her fingers lovingly over the Mackintosh writing desk, a beautiful dark mahogany piece inlaid with luxurious mother-of-pearl and ivory. She grimaced when he covered the surface with photographs, first editions and other supposed career highlights._

_"It's my desk," he pronounced defiantly, yet the teasing smirk on his lips dared her to move his prized possessions. She picked up some of the photographs and clutter, arranging them on a nearby bureau while his low chuckle rang in her ears._

_"So," he casually changed the subject. "You're not going to Sybil's wedding?"_

_"No." He raised his eyebrows in surprise and disapproval. "He hasn't forbidden me from going, Richard. It's just...the way it looks if I go."_

_He nodded slowly, indicating understanding rather than agreement. "If you go to the wedding with Mary and Edith, the Earl of Grantham is left on his own nursing his whisky and his wounded pride." She turned to the window, instinctively folding her arms across her chest. The conclusion was, as usual, disturbingly accurate. "Do you __want__ to go to the wedding?"_

_"Of course I do," she retorted, although Robert's implacable opposition meant it had never really been a option. She studied the formal parterre gardens outside, wondering what to say next. She felt compelled to defend her husband. "He's not a bad man," she managed._

_"Yes, I'm sure he has many virtues." He sounded bored - he had clearly already reached his own conclusions. "No doubt he's an honourable man and a loyal husband."_

_She winced slightly at the word 'loyal'. She took a deep breath and turned round, hoping he hadn't noticed._

_He had. He had stepped closer, studying her with something approaching concern._

_"No one knows..." she whispered. There seemed little point in concealing the truth. And perhaps it didn't matter that he knew of Robert's affair._

_He nodded slowly. "Affairs aren't scandalous, Cora." It was surely meant to be reassuring, but she had something quite different on her mind. He was close enough to touch, she wondered what it would feel like to be encased in his arms, she only had to reach out..._

_"Bookcases!" he proclaimed. "I've had them set up in the Library, but..."_

_He was still talking as he walked out. She stood alone in the room, taking a moment to compose herself. She was shocked by her feelings, but cannot bring herself to regret them. She trusted him. __And with each visit to Haxby, with each moment together, she was beginning to think more highly of him._

* * *

><p>"Not long now. Does everyone have a glass?"<p>

They are assembled in the drawing room to await the New Year. The Earl stands in the centre of the gathering, making great show of checking his fob watch, a superfluous gesture considering the mantle clock behind him. _She _stands beside her husband, beaming smile on her face, pretending to consult the watch.

The clock strikes midnight to a chorus of "Happy New Year". She is still smiling when her husband leans in to kiss her cheek.

The Earl and Countess look every inch the genial host and hostess. He knows it is a facade. He knows she is unhappy.

He knows the Earl does not deserve her.

* * *

><p>It is early morning by the time she gets to bed. She is exhausted from the celebrations and light-headed from too much champagne. Her head falls onto the pillow, her eyes close...<p>

She is awoken by a hand on her hip and a gruff kiss.

"Happy New Year."

"Mmm..." She mumbles into the pillow, vaguely aware of fingers trailing down her thigh, yet too tired to respond...

He moves his hand away with a loud sigh and collapses back onto the bed. "So you won't be by my side for the shoot _or_ the trial?"

It takes a moment for her to register what he is saying, far less how to reply. "Mary will be at the shoot, darling...and Rosamund."

"It's hardly the same."

Recognising the dangerous tone in his voice, she opens her eyes, inching closer until she is resting on his shoulder. "I haven't stood behind the guns since the girls were small." Her fingernails scrape lightly down his pyjama shirt. "I'll be there for luncheon."

"And the trial?"

"We've already discussed this..."

"I see," he barks in her ear. "So you would be happy to let the man hang?"

She has automatically backed away. "There are other - more discreet - ways to support him without having to testify or-"

"Or offer public support," he finishes.

She searches for something to placate him or make him understand. "Darling," she tries softly, "even to be associated with a man accused of _murder_-"

"I refuse to listen to this," he roars, the volume alone enough to rouse the whole house. Blankets are violently ripped off the bed and the door practically wrenched from its hinges in his hurry to leave.

She sinks back into the pillows, refusing to give in to the threatened tears.

Sleep will be impossible now.

_"So Bates has been arrested?" She rolled her eyes and continued inspecting the dining room:_

_"The table needs to be set further back, to give the footmen more space."_

_"Hasn't he already been in prison?" he persisted._

_She nodded. "We need to think about the lighting..." _

_"And he's still at Downton!"_

_She turned round with a heavy sigh:_

_"He was Robert's batman during the South African war."_

_"Well, your husband must be heavily indebted to his batman then, to support him in a murder trial..."_

_"It's a __trial__, Richard. He could be found innocent."_

_"But that doesn't matter, does it? It's the association that's damaging."_

* * *

><p>He cannot talk to her. Sharing the same house and sitting together at dinner is not the same as the teasing banter and lingering glances of Haxby.<p>

Mary's company is scant consolation. A week of disappointment and rejection culminates in the shoot. He is incensed by the way Matthew casually calls Mary to his side, the way they laugh together, the way she clearly prefers Matthew's companionship.

He tries to persuade himself that it doesn't matter - after all, Mary is indebted to him. She _will_ become his wife-

"I'm only asking to set a date."

"But what's the hurry?"

"Hurry?" He clutches her wrist to prevent escape. "Glaciers are fast compared to you on this, Mary."

Shrugging off his grip, she walks quickly towards the drawing room. He chases after her until they are coolly facing each other in Downton's Great Hall. He reminds her of their pact:

"I warn you, even my patience has its limits." Her eyes widen in surprise at the implication. "Do you want the world to know how the late Mr Pamuk died?" he hisses. "In your bed?"

Mary's surprise is transformed to abject horror. A cold chill runs through him as he gradually becomes aware of the onlookers. Cora stands outside the drawing room, looking equally horrified. He follows her gaze to the other side of the Hall.

To her husband.

* * *

><p><em>AN: As you can see, I've made it quite difficult for myself with time jumps, relationships etc. I'd be glad to know what you think. Thank you again to __**MissPixieWay **__for beta'ing and generally boosting my confidence. Next chapter (__**The Truth**__) will follow directly from this one._


	12. An Ending

_"Do you want the world to know how the late Mr Pamuk died? In your bed?"_

Realisation dawns gradually for Richard as he looks at each person in turn. Mary and Cora's eyes are trained on the Earl, whose expression is a combination of anger and confusion.

"Is anyone going to enlighten me?"

The booming question reverberates over the stunned silence. The next moments seem to pass as a play with Richard a mere spectator. Mary recovers first:

"I need to talk to you, Papa."

"Mary...You don't need to..."

"No, it's alright." She gives her mother a decisive nod and looks up at her father. "Shall we go into the Library?"

As Richard watches them leave, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place - his agreement with Mary, Cora's eagerness to see them wed and to remain in his favour... As soon as the Library door shuts, he turns to her:

"You haven't told him? He doesn't know? After eight years?"

"_You're_ the newspaperman, Richard," she hisses, making no effort to control her rage. "I'm surprised you haven't guessed that already."

"It was hardly something to talk about."

"No, so you just held it over our heads."

"I wanted Mary to marry me," he snaps. She looks round nervously as they both become aware of the conversation in the Library and their own exposed position. She gestures him into an empty room, where they talk in hurried whispers:

"I wanted Mary's love and affection," he pleads. "What's wrong with that?"

"Because love takes time and effort , Richard..."

"I realise that now..."

"...not threatening her with ruin."

"Threatening her with ruin?" He steps closer until he is almost whispering in her ear. "Do you think it's been easy? I've had to bribe most of Fleet Street, threaten the Turkish Embassy, call in favours from friends...I've tried Cora! And yet every time I come to Downton, Mary taunts me, the rest of your family are condescending...and as for Matthew Crawley..."

"I know..." The words are spoken so quietly he wonders whether he has heard them at all. "I'm sorry, Richard...I'm sorry for the way you've been treated..." She is _so_ close now - close enough to feel the rhythm of her soft breathing against him. His studies at her, eyes tracing the contours of her face - across her jawline, down to her neck, her collar bone, back up to her lips. He knows exactly what to do next...

"You and Mary aren't well suited..." He is mildly annoyed that she is trying to continue the conversation, oblivious to the charged atmosphere and their intimate position. His body craves release from the growing tension...

He kisses her abruptly; she pulls away with a yelp of surprise.

He tries again, briefly meeting her eyes, gently touching her lips...He feels her tremble, hears her quiet moan into his mouth. The kiss is soft, experimental, improvised. Her hand reaches up, brushes his shoulder...

She jumps away with a start, staring at him in horror. He cannot help but stare back. Her cheeks and neck are stained with a rosy blush, she is running her tongue over her lips...He is in danger of losing control of his emotions and actions...

Eyes pressed firmly shut, he takes a deep calming breath...Exhales slowly...Opens his eyes...

He is alone. She has left him.

_"It's __your __personal space, Richard." She shrugged. "So personalise it."_

_He expected her to critically survey the room and offer suggestions. Instead she stood next to him looking slightly bored. It was hardly the response he wanted._

_"What about the Earl's dressing room at Downton? How is that personalised?" He saw a small flicker of surprise and annoyance in her expression, yet he was no longer able to shock her. "Let me guess. Candles, academic and sporting prizes, hunting scenes, a narrow, uncomfortable bed-"_

_"You will never know, Richard," she interjected. " And it's not relevant to __this__ room." She had adopted the authoritative tone she probably used to admonish servants._

_He sighed. Their conversation had always skated over the boundaries of what was strictly proper. Talk of beds and dressing rooms was clearly a step too far._

_He imagined her private arrangements with her husband. How much had she seen of his dressing room? Had she ever slept in his bed? More importantly, how often does he share his wife's bed?_

_God, how he envied that man._

* * *

><p>She stands uncertainly outside her husband's dressing room. She will surely be missed downstairs, but is in no mood to make conversation or play bridge. What had happened in the Music Room? Why hadn't she walked away earlier? She he had welcomed his kiss, responded, <em>enjoyed it<em>. She could still feel him pressed against her, feel the way his tongue gently explored her mouth, feel the exquisite rush of pleasure wash over her...

_It's wrong._ It doesn't matter that a number of their acquaintances have taken lovers - and even Robert is still carrying on with Jane. _She_ is contemplating adultery with _Richard Carlisle, _infamous media mogul and her daughter's supposed fiancée. If they were ever discovered, the consequences didn't bear thinking about.

"Robert?" She knocks on his dressing room door, pushing it open when she hears his voice inside.

Carson seems to disappear the instant she comes in, leaving her husband half undressed. Another time, they would have found the situation amusing. She would have smiled, joked and helped him with his shirt, although the outcome of her "helping him dress" would inevitably lead to frenzied _undressing_.

She hides a small smile at the memory. Now it seems he is only willing to talk to her when fully dressed. She waits awkwardly, wondering just how honest Mary has been. Finally she is granted his attention:

"Carlisle's going to London tomorrow. Mary will break up with him when he gets back."

"So she's going to break with him?"

"I won't have my daughter married to a man who threatens her with ruin." She recognises his tone - the decision has already been made. There seems no point in questioning it. "I thought she could stay with your mother until the scandal passes?"

"Of course," she replies automatically. "It's probably for the best. Darling..." She doesn't know what to say, only what she wants - a frank discussion, forgiveness, reassurance?

"I've got to be up early for the trial tomorrow." He gestures towards his bed.

She nods; it is clearly not the right time to talk to him.

"Good luck for tomorrow, darling." She pecks his cheek and goes back to her room.

* * *

><p>Richard is angry. He was not surprised that Mary had ended their engagement, but he is furious that it took the involvement and supposed support of Matthew Crawley, irritated that Cora has not deigned spoken to him, upset that she has been positively avoiding him. He vents his fury at the man standing in front of him:<p>

"How smooth you are," he spits. "The model of manners and elegance. I wonder if you'll be quite so serene when the paper are full of your eldest daughter's exploits."

"I shall do my best." The reply is calm and measured; Richard recognises the way the Earl places himself between him and his daughter. There will be no further interaction between them. He storms out.

His only thought the next morning is to leave as soon as possible. Downton Abby has been the setting for incalculable humiliations and frustrations. He can take revenge on Mary and the Earl of Grantham from afar - the publication of her scandal and his valet's arrest.

He doesn't expect Mary to seek him out. Their last conversation is the most kind and genuine conversation he has experienced with Mary since their engagement: "I just didn't want our final words to be angry ones."

"I loved you, you know. More than you knew. And much, much more than you loved me."

"Then I hope the next woman you love deserves you more than I did." His thoughts turn inevitably to her mother, reminding himself that he may never see _her_ again either. He forces his demeanour to return to that of the brash, unconcerned newspaper baron.

"Don't worry about Haxby, " he declares, strolling through the entrance hall for the last time, determined not to look behind him. "I'll sell it at a profit. I usually do."

He is about to step into the car when he sees her waiting for him. His eyes take her in - hair swept up on top of her head, pearl-drop earrings and matching necklace, flaming orange blouse with circular patterns...

"You look cold," he whispers, drifting his fingers down her arm. He hears the sharp intake of breath and sees her eyes flick to his face. He knows just how to relieve the tension...

She shakes her head quickly, looking beyond him to the car and the waiting chauffeur. "I just wanted to say goodbye."

"Why goodbye?" He speaks slowly and seductively, his fingertips tracing lazy patterns on her arm. "The renovations at Haxby are complete. Do you not want to see the results?"

"There doesn't seem much point now..."

"There's every point, Cora. Haxby is _your _creation. You chose all the furniture and decor. That's quite an achievement."

"I thought you were selling it."

"Maybe," he shrugs. "We make a good team, Cora." He leans closer. "And we're both more relaxed away from Downton." She swallows; her breathing against his neck has deliberately slowed down. It takes all his self-control to step away from her.

"Tomorrow at Haxby," he pronounces, neither a statement nor a question. Tipping his hat, he steps into the car.

The motor drives off with Richard ensconced in the back. He smiles to himself. Perhaps he _will _see Cora again.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Thank you so much for MissPixieWay for beta'ing and generally boosting my confidence! As you can see, this fic will probably change to an M rating at some point!<strong>_


	13. A Beginning

What is she doing here? Even as she steps out the car, she wonders just what has brought her back to Haxby Park - and to Richard. The truth was that Richard Carlisle frightened her. Beneath that charming veneer, he was a powerful and dangerous man. And she was a married woman.

And yet...she missed him. She missed the way he challenged her, the way he deferred to her judgement, the confidence he gave her. And goodness_, _the way he kissed her..._This _was a man who knew what he was doing, what he _wanted_...

And he wanted her.

She had telephoned on a whim, surprised to hear him answer, surprised to hear herself agreeing to meet him. The arrangement was made for the day after the Servants' Ball - she hoped she would not be missed after the festivities.

She steps through the heavy wooden doors of Haxby Park and into the vast entrance hall. He is waiting for her.

"Well..." She sees the unsubtle sweep of his eyes - not so much undressing as _planning..._The heat rushes unbidden to her cheeks. When was the last time Robert had looked at her quite like _that?_

He gestures to the drawing room, chivalrously stepping aside to allow her to walk in first and look around. The room is everything she had envisioned - gleaming wooden floors; rich oriental rugs; dark, fashionable rococo furniture; translucent swirls of green and gold wallpaper.

"It's perfect, Richard."

"So you approve?" She rolls her eyes playfully at his teasing - he had refused to order or buy anything at Haxby without seeking her approval.

He strolls into the middle of the room, towards a tray holding a bottle of brandy and two snifters.

"Do you remember?" he asks as he splashes brandy into each glass.

"Yes." On her first day at Haxby, he had proudly held up the ornate bottle up to the light. _This dates back to the Battle of Waterloo,_ he had declared._ I plan to open it when Haxby is finished._

"We have something to celebrate."

She takes the glass he holds out. They are standing close together now - too close - yet she is unable to move. She watches in fascination as he takes a gulp of the amber liquor, watches the way he swirls it round his mouth, the way his tongue taps against his teeth as he tastes it...She should not be finding this so erotic.

"It doesn't taste any different." He holds the glass up and inspects the contents suspiciously.

"What were you expecting?"

"Well, for a one hundred year-old brandy..."

"The _age_ of the brandy doesn't matter. It's the time in the barrel before it's bottled that's important."

She cannot help but smirk when he lets out a disappointed snort and sets the glass back down. "Do you want it?" He gestures to the untouched glass in her hand.

"Not really..." She notices the dangerous glint in his eyes as he takes the glass; her body automatically tenses as she anticipates his embrace...

He pulls her towards him with an eagerness that makes her gasp. His arms circle her waist, she tastes the heat of brandy as his tongue glides over her lips and pushes into her mouth...Even as her body responds, her mind screams at her to stop...

"Richard...I.." She jerks her head away, hands pushing against his forearms to put some distance between them. "This can't happen...I..." She traces the path of his tongue on her lips while trying to come up with something coherent...She sees him staring at her lips, hears his sharp intake of breath...

"Don't. Do. That." His fingers dig into her waist.

"Sorry." She stops immediately.

"Cora..." His voice is hoarse. She can feel the tension in his arms and the way his hands still grip her waist. "I'm not going to force you. I'm many things, but I'm not..."

"I know," she replies softly. She looks into her eyes as he strokes her cheek with the back of his hand, leans in to kiss her again...This time the kiss is soft and gentle, and her resolve crumbles. She matches his light touch, feeling his murmured appreciation against her lips, hearing a groan when her tongue slips into his mouth. The warm rush of pleasure creeps up her spine as her mind tries to rationalise what she is doing... Robert _can't _find out..._god!_ But Robert's _never _done _this_, never got it so _exactly, _exquisitely_ right..._He _can't_ find out...

She lets out a frustrated sigh when he breaks the kiss and moves to her neck. "Does your husband kiss you like that?" he whispers in her ear. She knows the answer he wants, yet still feels a stab of guilt when she replies:

"No."

He presses a satisfied kiss below her ear. She bites her lip as he moves down her neck, each touch pushing thoughts of Robert further out of her mind. While his hands on her back press her closer to him, his body pushes her back towards...her legs hit the back of the sofa...

"Richard!" she hisses, struggling out of his embrace. It is bad enough, without doing it... "Not here, darling." She kisses him lightly, running her fingers over the lapels of his jacket. "Let's go upstairs. _Please._"

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...in the next chapter :-) Will change the rating in the next few days.<em>

_I find vaguely M-rated stuff difficult to write, so I'd appreciate any feedback and/or constructive criticism._


	14. A Good View

_A/N: I'm SO sorry this update has taken so long - I hope it's worth it!_

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><p>She is absolutely ravishing.<p>

He lies back on the bed, trying not to look too self-satisfied while studying the slight figure curled up next to him. His attention is drawn to the light silk material covering her from shoulders to ankles, yet somehow leaving little to the imagination. Her bosom is barely concealed by lace tulle and his fingers are itching to pull the ribbons on her shoulders..

He strokes her bare arm. Maybe-

"I ought to be getting back." She seems lost in her own thoughts, gaze fixed on the embroidered bedclothes. She refuses to look at him.

"We've got time." He pulls her towards him, ending any further contemplation with a demanding kiss. One hand in the small of her back presses her closer, while his other hand tugs unsuccessfully at the tiny ribbons on her shoulder. She flinches.

"They're decorative-"

He pulls the straps delicately over her shoulders, letting his fingers drift down...

"You're going to rip the - _oh GOD..."_

...followed by his lips, first sucking lightly then jerking his tongue over the most sensitive part...Meanwhile his hand creeps up her leg, slowly pulling the chemise up, enjoying the feel of silk stockings and bare skin underneath...

...She makes no sound, yet her hand clenches his bicep, fingers digging in and sure to leave a mark...He knows exactly what to do next...

He rolls onto his back, taking her with him until she is straddling him.

"Richard? What-"

"Trust me."

She tenses as he guides her on top of him; he hears the muffled cry as he moves his hips...

...she props herself up on her elbows to change the angle, giving him a wonderful view of her bare breasts...

_oh God...Richard, I..._

...as she slides up and down, controlling the rhythm...

_I...I'm going..._

_..._the Countess of Grantham, all but naked, moving frantically on top of him, begging for release...

_...faster...that's IT..._

..._that_ thought excites him more than anything, so that when she finally arches her back and cries out, he loses any semblance of control and abandons himself to the sheer ecstasy of it...

She is still leaning over him, flushed and trembling slightly. He meets her eye and smiles, his gaze seeming to drift inexorably downwards...The smile becomes a self-satisfied smirk...

She moves her weight off him, giving him a quick glimpse of silk and bare skin before stepping off the bed to adjust her chemise. He watches her wrap her corset round her chest and fasten each busk in turn. She twists round to pull the laces, frowning when the corset doesn't tighten as intended.

"Let me." He bounds off the bed and moves towards her.

"I can manage."

"These things are not meant to be done on your own." She reluctantly consents to his help, studying him sideways in the mirror as he sorts through the tangle of laces at her back and evenly pulls on each crisscrossed set.

"Where did you learn to tie a corset?" He meets her eye but ignores the impertinent question. "I know this is just another routine for you, Richard-"

"What? Tying a corset?" He tugs the pull loops to nip the corset in at her waist.

"You _know _what I mean." She gestures vaguely towards the bed.

He reaches round her waist to tie the loops together, wondering how much to tell her. "I don't know anything about a _routine, _Cora_-" _he releases her with a chuckle "-you're the one who's married."

"_I'm_ the one who will be affected when someone finds out." She retrieves the rest of her clothes from the floor and continues dressing.

"Who will find out?" He nonchalantly picks his tie up and stands behind her in the mirror to knot it. "Who will _care_? The aristocracy is awash with affairs. If that was all it took to sell papers-"

"That's beside the point."

"Then what _is_ the point-" He glances at her in the mirror; her eyes are wet with tears. "Cora - I'm so sorry."

He has made people cry before -usually crocodile tears from people hoping to avert publication of their sins. But this-

This is different. He pulls her into his embrace, feeling her start but not resist. His hand runs soothingly up and down her back while listening to her:

**"**My maid will know..."

"Your maid will be loyal to you. Let me know if there are any difficulties."

"...my chemise is probably ruined."

He recalls the image of the chemise bunched up round her waist, and her jerky movements on top. He could buy a new chemise...and stockings...He takes a deep breath, forcing his thoughts back to the present situation...

"I'll be more careful next time."

"_Next_ time?" She looks up at him incredulously.

"I'm keeping a man on here. You need only telephone."

"And what about _afterwards_?" She pushes against his chest to move away from him. "What about when you've finished with me and moved on?"

"I would never do that."

"Oh for heaven's sake, Richard!" She rolls her eyes. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Richard." Her flash of anger surprises him. He sees her trying to control the tears again and feels a lump in his own throat.

"Do you trust me?" He pauses, waiting for an answer. "Surely you trust me - or you wouldn't be here."

"I trust you," she answers in a small voice.

He steps closer and kisses her quickly. "I won't hurt you." He speaks softly, enunciating every word. "Whatever happens, I _won't_ see you hurt."

She nods slightly, not looking at him. There seems nothing more he can say to convince her of intentions.

"I really do need to get back to Downton."

"Cora-" His fingers lightly trace over her hip. "Telephone me. Any time." He kisses her. "I need you."

She winds her arms round his neck, gradually deepening the kiss, and he finally realises exactly what she wants from him...

_Love._

_She wants to be loved._

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><p>AN:I don't usually write M-rated stuff, so any feedback would be appreciated. Thank you once again to **Miss Pixie Way **for her beta'ing job.

And...I know there's a time jump in this chapter. I will fill in the gaps (from Cora's POV) next chapter.

In case anyone's interested - area codes weren't introduced until at least the 1950's (although earlier in US), so I thought the most discreet way of Cora contacting Richard (rather than using a _manned_ Telephone Exchange!) would be him keeping someone at Haxby, who could then contact his boss.


	15. 15 Difference

_THANK YOU for all the Chapter 14 reviews, especially __**MandaPanda's**__ lovely PM and __**antigone's**__ review prompting me to hurry up!_

_I'm so sorry this update has taken so long. As well as being on holiday, I've found this chapter unbelievably difficult to write - I don't think I've ever written so many drafts!_

_I'm now (reasonably) happy with this chapter - enjoy!_

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><p>She returns home with fresh eyes. The familiar features of Downton Abbey - the imposing stonework, rich decoration, centuries-old portraits - seem strangely reassuring.<p>

_Nothing has changed._

She resumes her role as Lady Grantham:

"Carson, I need to freshen up before dinner. Could you send O'Brien up?"

"Very good, milady." The butler nods deferentially, his demeanour as cool and impassive as ever.

_Nothing has changed._

So why does everything feel different? Why does she feel her world has been turned upside down?

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><p><em>"Do you ever wish-" she could feel him behind her, his fingers on her shoulders and his warm breath on her neck "-you weren't <em>Lady Grantham, _wife, mother, chatelaine? Have you ever wanted to escape for a few hours?"_

_"Mmm..." she instinctively leant back into him as his hands drifted down her arms. His mouth brushed over her neck, hands dropping to her hips to pull her closer. She closed her eyes, savouring the delicious warm sensations provoked by each kiss and touch._

_Could she really do this? Would her husband ever find out?_

_His hands snaked round her waist..._

_Could she escape for a few hours?_

_...she groaned when his lips nipped her bare skin..._

YES. _Robert did not need to know._

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><p>Cora was greeted by O'Brien in her room - bath already running and evening clothes laid out on the bed. Ordinarily she would find her it musing, yet tonight is different. There is something oddly unsettling in her maid's efficiency.<p>

O'Brien removes the hair pins and helps her with her clothes. She shivers, thinking back to Haxby - where she was stripped to her underwear with no less skill but rather more urgency.

She cannot meet the other woman's eye, certain that some small detail of clothing or hair will give her away her secret.

_Your maid will be loyal to you._

Richard is right - and she has no doubt of O'Brien's loyalty. Nevertheless, there is something wrong with compelling her maid to share her burden. She impulsively turns round and flashes a knowing smile:

"Thank you, O'Brien."

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><p><em>His hands moved fluently over buttons and clasps, slipping her blouse off her shoulders and pushing her skirt down over her hips. The laces at the back of the corset were loosened in one tug, then he reached back round her waist to unhook the busks.<em>

_"You're very good at this." No, that was NOT what she had intended to say. "I mean - the corset..."_

_"It's not difficult." The corset was thrown off and onto the floor, leaving her exposed in just her underwear. The idea of what would happen - what they would __do__ next - left her terrified and aroused in equal measure. _

_She turned round and pressed into him, trying to take control and delay the inevitable a moment longer. She concentrated on countless small sensations - the softness of his lips against her tongue, his bicep under her hand, his own hands gliding smoothly against her chemise. It was so, _so _different - hurried and unrestrained, seemingly struggling and coming together at the same time._

_She worked his jacket and waistcoat off his shoulders, and pulled on his tie...tightening it further...Correcting it only made the problem worse..._

_He stilled her hands with an impatient grunt, loosening the knot round his neck and tossed it onto the floor. _

_"Let's go to bed."_

_"But you're not..." she lightly touched his shirt "... you're still dressed."_

_"We can do all that later," he grasped her hands to led her towards the bed. "Or afterwards." Before she could dwell on what he meant, he had leant down to whisper in her ear:_

_"Cora - I want to make love to you."_

* * *

><p>She can still feel him - the smooth movement of his hands over her body, his lips on her breast, the way he moved inside her. <em>Nothing<em> could erase those memories - or the arousal that pumped through her veins at the mere thought of him...

"I've laid out the red chiffon dress - unless Your Ladyship has a preference."

"No, no. Thank you, O'Brien." The last time she had expressed a preference was at Christmas.

When Richard was here.

* * *

><p><em>She groaned impatiently.<em>

_The motion of his hips on top of her was too deliberate, too steady, too _slow - _and he was still __dressed__! She defiantly reached for the top button of his shirt-_

_Her hand was pinned to the pillow in one smooth movement. He shifted higher up, until her lips were level with his neck._

_"Better?" He rocked gently in the new position, barely moving yet pushing against somewhere rather sensitive._

_Oh yes... _

_She wrapped her legs round him and he thrust deeper. His hands slipped smoothly under clothes and over the curves of her body, too fast to keep track of..._

_She shuddered under his touch, biting down on her lip to maintain a semblance of control-_

"_Don't bite your lip..." he whispered. "Let me hear you..."_

_She looked into his face. Instead of the self-satisfied smirk she expected, she saw only intense concentration, his jaw clenched and his eyes studying her reactions._

_"Do you know how long I've wanted to do this..." He thurst harder and-_

_"Ah!" She gripped his shirt and matched his increasing rhythm, any self-control replaced by a desperate craving for release. It was too intense, too erotic, still too __slow_..._She could feel the gradual crest of excitement building and building, until-_

* * *

><p>"Are you alright?" Her husband is standing behind her in the mirror, dressed in his evening tails. "You look quite flushed."<p>

"I'm fine." She busies herself with the ointments on her dressing table, trying to bring her mind back to Downton and Robert.

"Hmm..." Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him adjust his appearance in the mirror. "You're not the only one suffering from last night."

"Last night?"

This time he looks genuinely worried. She tries to think back more than few hours ago, before Haxby and Richard-

"The Servants' Ball."

"Oh...yes, of course."

She tries not to flinch when he touches the fiery heat of her cheeks. "Are you sure you're alright? Do you want a tray brought up instead?"

"No, I...I'm just tired."She stands up to face him with a strained smile.

"I was looking for you this afternoon. Where were you?"

Her smile freezes. She is sure the burning in her cheeks will reveal the secret. "Charity work," she manages in a small voice, silently begging him not to question further.

"But..." she catches a frown. "Isobel was here today, so you couldn't have been with her...".

"Darling, I could never work with Isobel! I...it's...the Needlework Guild."

"I see." She forces herself to look at him. He is trying to work something out - or making a decision? His hand is finally extended towards her:

"Shall we go down?"

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><p><em>AN: I'd love to know what you think - especially the M-rated parts._


	16. 16 Decision

A/N: I'm so sorry this has taken so long! To recap - Cora's done the deed with Richard! This chapter is set the same evening.

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><p><em>Mary and Matthew are engaged!<em>

Tonight, formalities have been discarded in the excited hubbub of congratulations and wedding plans. It's the happiest evening she has experienced in a long time - even Carson was smiling.

It is beyond midnight when the small family party finally disperses. Cora heads upstairs in a celebratory mood, her husband trailing behind. They are still beaming when they step inside her room.

"I'm so happy for them," she gushes.

"It's been a happy day," he agrees, taking her hands in his. "And I'm sure the wedding plans will keep you busy." He pauses. "I've been thinking..."

She looks over his shoulder, waiting for him to continue while his thumb traces maddening patterns on her palm.

"You know they want to marry soon?"

"They have waited eight years, darling."

"I suppose so." He lets go of her hand to trail his finger tips down the goose bumps on her arm. "They seemed so happy today." He takes a deep breath. "Cora-"

She knows_ exactly _what is coming - a tender apology for his boorish behaviour, a promise to make it right - followed by _physical _reconciliation. She turns away from him, staring blindly towards the window, determined that he would not see her tears.

_I promise to make you happy..._She still remembers the sincerity of his pledge from thirty years ago. But-

_No. Not __now__...It was too late._

_What had she done? _She had destroyed three decades of marriage with one moment of weakness - one sordid afternoon. Except-

_She had enjoyed every minute - was that so wrong? And it's not as if __he__ was blameless._

"I know things haven't been right, darling. I know you've been unhappy."

She knows the admission is not easy for him. - would it have made a difference a few days earlier?

She shoots round. "Don't you think it's a bit late for that?"

"What do you mean?"

**"**We've both been distracted." She glances at his face, seeing his lips pursed and brow furrowed in concentration. "We've drifted apart? You..you have your own affairs now. We both do..."

_Stop, Cora! _What on earth was she doing? Did she _want _to know what he got up to with Jane? And was she planning to confess what she had really been doing this afternoon?

"I have been selfish and thoughtless - that I acknowledge." He holds his hands out expansively. "And I won't stand in the way of your charitable activities."

She blinks back her astonishment. Is it that easy? Could they continue their separate liaisons and present a united front to the world? Could she _pretend? _Is that what she wanted?

Another thought occurred to her. Perhaps he already knows. Perhaps this is his way of giving consent.

"And what about you? What about your trips into the village?"

"What trips?"

"Your trips to see-" She stops, hesitating on the name. _Jane._

"Cora," he sighs. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She looks up in surprise. She sees a determined glint in his eyes - and the way they wander over her evening dress. His arms snake round her waist. Clearly he has finished talking.

"What's brought this on?"

"Am I not allowed to apologise properly?" he grins, snatching a kiss.

She pulls away. She needs time - time to think and order her emotions. Everything would be better after a little time. "Why don't we at least get ready for bed?"

"Ah!" Another snatched kiss. "I've dismissed the servants. I thought we could manage on our own for one night."

_"_You..._what? _When did you decide this?"

"Cora, our eldest daughter is engaged. The servants deserve a chance to celebrate."

"Of course they do darling, but..." She closes her eyes for a brief moment, wondering what to say. "You don't understand..."

"No?" She opens her eyes, although his anger and rejection was all too evident in the low, clipped staccato. "I understand perfectly. Fine. Call O'Brien. Do as you wish. I won't disturb you anymore."

The door slams shut behind him.

_What has she done? Is this what she wants?_ At least Robert has _tried_ to resolve their differences - she has just pushed him away.

_And this was supposed to be a happy day._

Tearing her eyes away from the closed door, she curls up on the bed and hugs her arms to her chest. She is tired - tired of the stilted conversation and misunderstandings. She can no longer decipher Robert's moods, much less what he actually _say. _Her mind drifts back to earlier in the day..._Richard..._

_I won't hurt you...You trust me, or you wouldn't be here...Don't bite your lip..._

She awakens early the next morning, barely rested and still fully dressed.

Yet she feels better.

She has made her decision.

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><p><em>AN: I'm VERY rusty and this was a difficult chapter to write. I hope I've done Cora's character's justice. And Robert - I hope he's not too blasé. More will be revealed in the next chapter but he's basically following a "make-up script" which means apology and bed!_

_Thank you for all the wonderful reviews of Chapter 15 - **Tallulah James, antigone, Living for Jesus, MandaPanda2, vordogh, Carlisleand Esme, GranthamGal! **Once again - I'm sorry the follow-up took so long - I blame REAL LIFE!  
><em>

__**Chapter 17 (The Truth)**__ was originally going to be the final chapter, but I may do a Robert POV follow-up to answer all your questions._  
><em>


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